Fallen Embers
by Hermione Eveningfall
Summary: Following a visit to Brandy Hall, Frodo suddenly becomes ill. (I'm sorry, I suck at summaries ;o) ) Please R&R! **Originaly a Frodohealers fic**
1. Chapter 1

Fallen Embers  
  
A/N: Here is my long-awaited pneumonia fic! I'm really hoping it goes well and I, as usual, would like feedback. Thanks!  
  
Disclaimer: All of the characters names and places belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. He is probably rolling over in his grave for what I am doing to his creations, but oh well. And as usual I make no money from these stories- I just write them for my own pleasure. And to entertain you guys. Haha. Enjoy! Please read and review!  
  
Chapter 1  
  
"There we are, Frodo. All nice and warm." Bilbo Baggins wrapped his tweenage nephew in a thick cloak, hat, scarf and mittens. The two hobbits were preparing for the two-day journey home from Brandy Hall, where they had been visiting Frodo's cousins for the past week.  
  
Unfortunately, about three days following the visit, Frodo had come down with a nasty chest cold, which lasted a good four days. The cold was the result of his playing outside in the snow till after dark.  
  
"Are you certain it is wise for the two of you to make that long journey just yet?" Esmerelda Brandybuck, the wife of Saradoc Brandybuck-the Master of Brandy Hall-asked as she knelt down to Frodo's level. "Judging from the smell outside, it appears as though another good snowstorm is on the way."  
  
"The very reason why I would like to get started early." Bilbo replied. "Don't worry about us. Your husband is lending us two ponies for the journey and we should be all right."  
  
The sound of footsteps were heard next and Meriadoc (Merry) Brandybuck, the only child of Esmerelda and Saradoc, came running down the hall. His cheeks were tearstained and he held out his chubby little arms. "Don't leave, Frodo." The lad sobbed, clinging onto his elder cousin with a great amount of affection.  
  
Frodo nearly choked on tears as he hugged Merry back. He always enjoyed coming to visit, for this had been his childhood home-until two years before, when his favorite Uncle, Bilbo, had adopted him and brought him to live at Bag-End in Hobbiton. The reason Bilbo had adopted the lad was this: when Frodo was just twelve, his parents-Drogo and Primula Baggins- had died in a terrible boating accident on the Brandywine river, leaving Frodo an orphan. For nine long years following the tragedy, Frodo remained at Brandy Hall, taken care of by his many Aunts and Uncles.  
  
"I have to, Merry. I know you'll miss me, but I promise I'll come back again." Frodo promised, letting the tears flow.  
  
"You had better get on the road, Bilbo." Saradoc announced, causing each of them to turn around. "The ponies are ready."  
  
Merry sat down on the floor and continued to wail as he watched Bilbo lead his cousin out of the hall.  
  
Once outside, Frodo gasped as the icy, mid-January air hit him. He fought the urge to cough as Saradoc helped him onto the pony. "Are you warm enough, Frodo?" The Master of Brandy Hall asked, watching his nephew take hold of the reins. Bilbo mounted the other pony and turned his head to make sure the tweenager was settled.  
  
"I'm fine, Uncle Saradoc."  
  
"Have a safe trip, lads." Saradoc added and led them to the main gate, watching them ride off. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
The first half-hour of riding went rather smoothly. Frodo talked with Bilbo till the old hobbit ordered him to rest his voice a while. "You just got over a bad cold, lad."  
  
Frodo sighed. His Uncle was so overprotective with everything-always making sure he had at least five pocket handkerchiefs when he went out, little things like that. Despite the nagging, Frodo loved the old hobbit dearly and had to give Bilbo credit for dealing with him.  
  
After about ten minutes of silence, Frodo felt something land on his forehead and gazed up. The sky was a mixture of gray and white, and when he could focus his eyes properly he saw little flakes falling. "Bilbo-it's starting to snow," Frodo announced, urging his dapple-gray pony to catch up to Bilbo's chesnut one.  
  
Bilbo felt his heart sink. He noticed the snowflakes too, but it wasn't snowing hard yet. Still, that didn't mean anything, and in a few hours they could be in the middle of a blizzard for all they knew. "Would you like to go back to Brandy Hall, Frodo? It's only fourty-minutes away." Bilbo suggested. He knew he'd never forgive himself if he'd continued riding home and a heavy snow fell. Frodo, he knew, would surely get sick again.  
  
When there was no reply, Bilbo turned his head. "Did you hear me?" He asked calmly.  
  
Frodo blinked. "Sorry-what did you say? I was drifting a bit."  
  
Bilbo smiled. "Would you like to turn back? I'd hate for us to get stuck in a big storm. I should have listened to your Aunt Esmerelda and waited another week just in case."  
  
Frodo smiled back. "That's not necessary, Bilbo. It's not snowing hard, and it'll probably end in a bit. By foot it would take us three days but by pony probably two."  
  
Bilbo sighed. "Well-I suppose if you feel that you don't need to turn around, then we'll continue."  
  
And so they did. They came to the edge of the forest on the outskirts of Buckland, and began to make their way through it. Frodo broke into a small fit of coughing on the way, and both had to stop till the fit passed. It was so cold that Frodo's lungs were protesting.  
  
"Are you all right?" Bilbo called from a few feet ahead.  
  
"Yes, Uncle." Frodo gazed up at the thick gray clouds that filled the sky, and shivered as a cold wind blew. He loved the wintertime when he was at home in Hobbiton, resting comfortably in front of the cozy fire in the parlor with the smell of roasted chesnuts wafting through from the kitchen. Hot chesnuts. Frodo closed his eyes and imagined their delicious taste. What a treat they were any time of the year, but particularly in the winter. "And the Gaffer's butter." He spoke randomly, causing Bilbo to laugh heartily.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" He asked with a wink. "Hungry are you?" Bilbo checked his golden pocketwatch. "My goodness-I think it is about time we stopped and had a bite to eat."  
  
They found a nice clearing inside a grove of trees, and tied their ponies to the trunks. Frodo fed his an apple from his pack and giggled when it licked his hand. "That tickled!" He gasped. The horse grunted in reply and pawed the snowy ground, bobbing his head up and down.  
  
"Come, Frodo." Bilbo told the lad. "It's dry over here, and I'll set up a blanket for us to sit on. We don't have much but bread, cheese and fruit."  
  
Frodo shrugged as he sat down on the blanket. "It is fine, Bilbo. But it is getting very c-cold and I think my f-fingers and t-toes are going to turn to icicles."  
  
Bilbo drew Frodo close to him, trying his best to warm the little one up. "There we are. Some bread and cheese for you-not too much now. And some cider-there's a good lad."  
  
Frodo bit into the bread, snuggling against his Uncle's thick blue and gold cloak as he chewed. He loved outings, and while he lived at Brandy Hall he always remembered daydreaming about going on adventures with Bilbo, just the two of them. 'To bad I've been so ill,' Frodo thought miserably as another fit of coughing took over.  
  
The break was not a long one, but the food helped Frodo regain some of his strength before they re-mounted the ponies and began moving again. Unfortunately for the both of them, the snow began to fall at a rediculous rate by the time they reached West Farthing, nearly one and a half days away from Hobbiton. Frodo could see the lights far off in the distance from the hobbit holes, pubs and inns, though an enormous stretch of snow-covered ground separated them from the area. All that could be heard was the sound of the wind whistling and Frodo's teeth chattering. Bilbo just knew they had to find an inn to take shelter for the night.  
  
"You need rest, lad. And I think we'll find somewhere in the East Farthing that will house us until the snow lets up."  
  
Frodo was too exhausted to protest and they made their way towards the town. "Can't see," Frodo gasped after a while. "Bilbo? The snow is stinging my eyes!"  
  
"Do you have your hood up, Frodo?" Bilbo called, turning around. He could barely make out the form of his nephew and pony because of the thick flakes falling all around him. "Frodo? Can you hear me?" he shouted.  
  
"What?" Frodo called. He could hear Bilbo's faint speech but couldn't quite make out what his Uncle was saying.  
  
"Catch up, lad!" Bilbo yelled. " 'Tis only a mile till we reach the ferry landing that I can see! I'll stay here until.."  
  
A crack of thunder broke through the clouds and Bilbo heard Frodo's pony let out a screech and heard Frodo yell in surprise. "FRODO!" Bilbo turned his pony and galloped towards the direction of the noise.  
  
"BILBO! STOP THIS THING!" Frodo hollered as he clutched the reins with all his might. The pony was going at a lightening speed for an animal its size, and Frodo was terrified. He rarely rode horses, so he had no idea how to stop it.  
  
"I'M COMING, FRODO! HOLD ON!" Bilbo yelled, now feeling very ill. He couldn't see Frodo at all now, but he could hear the tweenager's cries and then nothing. "FRODO!" Bilbo screamed. "FRODO!" He gently pulled the reins on his pony so that it slowed down to a stop. "Oh now look what a mess you've gotten yourself into, Bilbo Baggins. Stop and think-don't panic now." He shielded his eyes from the snow, trying to see if he could make out any moving object. He started the pony up again and galloped in the direction he had last heard Frodo's call. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
  
All he could see was darkness. It was so bitterly cold and every   
muscle in his small body ached. Eventually, his vision cleared and   
Frodo found that he was lying flat on his back in the snow. The air   
had been knocked out of him, so it hurt to take a deep   
breath. `Where am I?' he thought to himself. `What happened?' About   
ten minutes after coming to, Frodo managed to force himself to his   
feet. He found that he had fallen down a hill into a small valley-  
type area. Snow as all around him and coming in gusts from the   
sky. "Bilbo?" He asked in a weak voice as he broke into a fit of   
harsh coughing. "Where—where are you?"   
  
Almost immediately memories began to flood back into his mind. He   
remembered now—he had been on the way home from Brandy Hall with his   
Uncle, and his pony had been spooked by the coming snowstorm. In   
fact—just now he could make out the sound of the rolling thunder.   
Frodo sneezed and wiggled his frozen toes. Perhaps he could shout   
and get someone's attention from above, but then who would be out in   
this weather? No normal hobbit would, that was certain! Frodo   
scratched the back of his head. Where had his pony gotten to?   
  
"FRODO!"   
  
Frodo gasped when he heard someone calling his name. "Bilbo?" He   
asked no one in particular, coughing again. He had to try, though   
his chest and throat hurt so badly. "BILBO! I'M DOWN HERE!" He   
shouted, nearly falling over in pain.   
  
"FRODO!"  
  
"HERE, UNCLE!" Frodo grasped the side of the valley, attempted to   
climb up. He got about halfway when he caught sight of his Uncle's   
pony. "UNCLE!" He shouted. Then Bilbo turned and saw his nephew   
clutching at the side of a hill for dear life.   
  
"FRODO!" Bilbo charged straight towards his nephew. "Oh lad—you had   
me so worried! Are you all right? Where is your pony?"  
  
"I-it r-ran o-off," Frodo sobbed. "I-I'm s-so c-cold and e-  
everything h-hurts."  
  
"I knew we should have turned back to Brandy Hall." Bilbo cursed   
himself as he aided his nephew out of the ditch. "As I thought—  
burning up. My poor boy—I am so sorry."  
  
" `S all right, Bilbo. I was stubborn too," Frodo shivered. "I   
didn't think."  
  
"Well—what's done is done, lad. But we have to get you to shelter   
before you take worse. Take my cloak—you need to keep as warm as you   
can."  
  
"No, Bilbo—you'll be cold," Frodo protested. "And it won't do any   
good to have both of us sick, will it?"   
  
Bilbo, without another word, wrapped his nephew with his cloak and   
set the horse as fast as it could go towards the town.   
  
  
  
  
  
At the first inn they came to, Bilbo lifted Frodo's feverish body   
into his arms and carried the lad inside. The Inn was called the   
Triple Ale, and the owner—a hobbit by the name of Gilbo Glassburrow,   
was happy to take them in. "I'll fetch the healer for the boy,"   
Master Glassburrow told Bilbo. "But first let me take you to one of   
our finest suits."  
  
Frodo let out a few horrifying coughs and tried to snuggle closer to   
Bilbo in order to keep warm. "Nasty storm, eh? Poor little tyke. How   
come you were out if he was ill?"  
  
"Well—it was my own fault. You see—we were visiting relatives in   
Buckland and he had come down with a nasty cold. I thought it was   
over so we decided to leave early this morning. If it hadn't been   
for the snowstorm, he would have probably held on till we got back   
to Hobbiton."  
  
Gilbo nodded in understanding. "Ah, well—we all make mistakes, you   
know. `Tis a part of life. There we are—nice and cosy. I'll get a   
fire started in the fireplace and you just put the little lad into   
bed."  
  
Bilbo stripped Frodo's wet clothes and left the tweenager in just   
his underwear. Frodo could hardly stand he was so tired, but Bibo   
let him lean on his shoulder. "Up we go, love." Bilbo pulled the   
sheet up first and then the down comforter.   
  
"Thank you, Bilbo." Frodo whispered weakly. Bilbo stroked Frodo's   
forehead.   
  
"You're welcome, cricket. You must get well, my boy."  
  
Frodo nodded. "I will try, Bilbo."   
  
Gilbo stood up once the fire started going, and he turned to his   
guests. "I'll have my assistant Lars send for the healer and we'll   
get a good diagnosis on the lad. If it is the flu then we'd best   
shut this section of the Inn off, for it's contagious."  
  
"Yes. Thank you so much." Said Bilbo.   
  
"No trouble at all. We welcome anyone from anywhere. That is our   
motto it is." Gilbo headed out of the room, shutting the door behind   
him. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
Bilbo sat beside his nephew's bed and watched the lad sleep.   
Frodo's breath rattled in his small chest and often he was woken by   
harsh coughing fits. The fever had returned as well, so Bilbo every   
now and then blotted Frodo's skin with a damp cloth.   
  
"Dr. Whiteberry is here, sir." Gilbo announced about an hour   
later when he opened the door. Bilbo turned and saw another elderly   
hobbit (probably in his late 60's early 70's) behind the owner. The   
doctor carried a satchel and looked very weary, as he told the owner   
to let them be for the present.   
  
Once Gilbo had left, Dr. Whiteberry introduced himself to   
Bilbo and shook hands with him before going straight to work on   
Frodo. "How long has he been ill like this? He has a high fever, Mr.   
Baggins."  
  
"He came down with a cold last week—we were visiting   
relatives in Buckland. He was feeling a lot better after a while, and   
we wanted to get back to Hobbiton before the first snow.   
Unfortunately," Bilbo stroked Frodo's burning cheek. "I was a bit   
overconfident."  
  
Dr. Whiteberry smiled as he pulled the blankets down and   
lifted Frodo's woolen sweater, placing the metal end of his   
stethescope against the tweenager's bare skin. "Ahhhhhh! It's cold!"   
Frodo wailed, his voice cracking as he attempted to slide up against   
the headboard.   
  
"Frodo, lad—lay still. This is Dr. Whiteberry—he is going to   
help you, but you also must cooperate."  
  
Frodo gazed at the healer through fever-bright eyes.   
  
"There's a good lad. When I tell you so, take a deep breath.   
All right? Inhale."  
  
Frodo did as he was told, fighting the urge to cough, for   
breathing so deep made his chest tighten. Dr. Whiteberry shook his   
head and clucked his tongue. "The boy is coming down with pneumonia,   
Master Baggins, I'd hate to tell you. You should have waited till the   
worst of the snows passed before heading home. He will have to stay   
in West Farthing till he feels better."  
  
Bilbo took Frodo's hand in his own, squeezing it gently and   
nearly choking on tears when he felt Frodo squeeze his hand in   
return. "What can we do to ease the pain?" the old hobbit asked the   
healer who was checking Frodo's temperature.   
  
"Just sponge him down every so often with cool water—cool,   
mind you—not cold. However, if his fever gets any higher…….." The   
healer took the thermometer from Frodo's mouth and read it. "101.5.   
If it gets much higher, than an ice bath will be needed to cool him.   
Fevers can be dangerous and fatal for a young hobbit."  
  
Bilbo nodded in understanding—he had helped his nephew fight   
through a few illnesses, nearly loosing the lad to Scarlet Fever two   
years before he moved into Bag-End.   
  
"I understand, Doctor."  
  
Dr. Whiteberry smiled. "Just keep him in bed and accompany   
him to the privy if he needs to use it, though I would suggest   
keeping a bedpan in the corner of the room. I will prescribe some   
cough medicine and a fever reducer, and we'll see how they help."  
  
Frodo opened his eyes, feeling very weak, and reached for   
Bilbo's hand. "I'm scared, Uncle." He whispered hoarsley. "I want t-  
to go h-home."  
  
Bilbo took Frodo's hand in his own and kissed it softly. "I   
know, sweetheart. I know you're scared—so am I. But I am here for you—  
I won't leave—I promise."  
  
Dr. Whiteberry watched the interaction between the two   
hobbits and patted Bilbo on the shoulder. "Hopefully," He   
began, "Frodo will pull through this. It will take some time, and you   
must be patient. Sick lads are sometimes difficult to deal with."  
  
Of course Bilbo knew this, having dealt Frodo's being ill   
numbers of times. Even with a cold the lad became cranky and   
irritable, and often wanted to be left alone. Frodo broke into   
another fit of harsh coughing, followed by a series of gasps for   
air. "It hurts, Bilbo." He whimpered. "And I want to go home. Please—  
I just want to go home."  
  
Bilbo turned to the doctor, who shook his head firmly. "You   
musn't take the lad anywhere until he is feeling better. I promise   
you—if you need anything, I will come straight away. Just ask Gilbo   
and he'll know where to find me."  
  
"Thank you, doctor." Bilbo said in almost a whisper as he   
watched the healer leave the room. When the door closed, the old   
hobbit turned to his young nephew, who was attempting to fall   
asleep. "Please, Frodo." He begged. "Fight for me, lad." Once again,   
he dipped a wash cloth into the bowl of luke-warm water and wiped it   
over Frodo's sweat-covered brow. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Bilbo dozed on and off that night as he sat beside his nephew's bed. The tweenager's coughing grew harsher, and twice he coughed up startling amounts of phlegm. Around midnight, Frodo awoke and asked if he could have something to drink. "Of course my boy." Bilbo yawned. "Let me fetch Mr. Glassburrow, and I'll see if he can't make you a nice cup of tea." The old hobbit kissed the lad on the forehead, frowning as he still felt the amount of heat radiating from Frodo's skin. Frodo watched as his Uncle left the room and sighed, gazing up at the wood ceiling. He missed his bedroom at Bag-End more than ever now. True, the inhabitants at the Inn were very kind so far and so was the healer, but he still could not help feeling frightened. He missed hearing the clippers of Hamfast Gamgee in the garden outside of his window and little Samwise peeping in every so often.  
  
When Bilbo returned, he carried a saucer and a chipped teacup. When Bilbo sat down again, he urged Frodo to sit up a bit so he wouldn't choke on the tea. "What kind is it?" Frodo asked in the midst of a cough.  
  
"Chamomile." Bilbo replied. "Not too much at once now---there we are." He aided Frodo in sipping the tea, holding the edge of the cup to the tweenager's lips. The liquid was so refreshing sliding down, but he almost immediately started coughing again after his second mouthful. Bilbo fumbled for a handkerchief and held it to Frodo's mouth. "Spit lad." He encouraged, and Frodo spit up more phlegm, sobbing when he'd finished. "It's all right, my boy." Bilbo promised, once his nephew managed to get a good breath of air. Once Frodo was laying back against his pillows, he gazed longingly at his Uncle, who disposed of the soiled handkerchief.  
  
"---glad you're here, Uncle." Frodo whispered after Bilbo took a seat again.  
  
Bilbo clasped his hand around Frodo's and placed it against his cheek. "I'm glad I'm here too, love."  
  
Frodo sighed, feeling sleepiness take over again. Bilbo looked up and noticed that his nephew's eyes were drooping, and caressed the burning forehead with the back of his hand. "I think," He began quietly, "that I ought to write a letter to your Auntie Esme and Uncle Saradoc."  
  
Frodo gasped and tried to sit up. "No, Uncle!" He cried in a weak voice.  
  
Bilbo stared. "Why not, my boy? You know they'd want to hear from me if you fell sick."  
  
Frodo whimpered softly. "Because-because they told us not to go when we did. All they will say, Bilbo, is "We told you so." I know it!"  
  
Bilbo rubbed Frodo's arm. "Nonsense, lad. Even if they do say that, I deserve it. I should have listened to them-you were clearly not as well as you appeared."  
  
Frodo frowned before his cheeks suddenly turned a light shade of green. "I am going to be ill, Uncle." He choked. Bilbo immediately dashed across the room to grab the bed pan and held it under Frodo's head. The lad started to throw up, sobbing as he did so. Bilbo rubbed Frodo's back, promising that everything was going to be all right. When the fit ended, Frodo choked, "Oh no-there's blood in that."  
  
Bilbo grimaced as he looked inside the basin, and sure enough, the lad was right. "Well, Frodo, that is usually what happens when one has pneumonia. Let me go and empty this and you just lay back and rest now."  
  
"Don't leave me, Uncle Bilbo." Frodo begged.  
  
"I'll be back in a minute, I promise. I don't want the smell of this to make you sick again." Bilbo kissed Frodo gently on the top of the head before hurrying to the privy to empty the basin. While he was gone, Frodo groaned. He had not felt this awful since the bout of flu he had caught the winter before. This, however, was ten times worse. His chest was so tight that he felt as though he could hardly breathe. Plus, every muscle in his tiny body ached to the dickens, and he felt hot and cold at the same time. When Bilbo returned with the empty basin in his hands, he took a piece of parchment from his travel pack and a quill.  
  
"What are you doing?" Frodo whimpered.  
  
"I am going to write a letter to your Aunt and Uncle, Frodo. I have to. Trust me, I've been called more names than anyone in the Shire, probably, so I can deal with a little bit of backlash from them."  
  
Frodo actually smiled at his Uncle's comment. It was true-folks in Hobbiton were always talking about "Mad Baggins". Frodo had actually defended Bilbo once after a bunch of hobbit lads tortured Frodo one day as he was coming home from the market. He had received a pretty decent bruise over his right eye, which took nearly two weeks to heal. Bilbo had been very upset with him about that, but had hugged him and praised him all the same.  
  
"Do you need anything, Master Baggins?" A voice called through the door. It was Mr. Glassburrow, the owner.  
  
"Another fresh mug of tea would be wonderful, thank you, sir." Bilbo replied.  
  
"I'll have it to you shortly." Frodo listened as Gilbo Glassburrow's footsteps grew fainter and fainter before turning to Bilbo again. He watched as his Uncle sat writing, using his knees as a table.  
  
"Do not make it too dramatic," Frodo teased.  
  
"Let's see. Too dramatic." Bilbo tapped the pen against his chin. "Our dear Frodo is very near death and...."  
  
"Uncle!" Frodo cried. "How could you even jest about such a thing?" He broke into a fit of harsh coughing from speaking too much, and Bilbo patted his arm.  
  
"Because I know you are a strong lad, and you've been through more illnesses than one can count. Now close your eyes my boy, and try to get some sleep."  
  
Frodo nodded. "Will you sit with me through the night, Uncle?" He asked quietly.  
  
"Of course, lad. Go to sleep, now. Your Uncle Bilbo is right here beside you."  
  
Frodo smiled weakly, before reaching his hand out. Bilbo took the small hand in his own and kissed it lightly, before watching the lad burry underneath the warmth of the covers and drift away. 


End file.
